


You've always loved the Ocean

by SpaceDimentio



Category: Mythology (Miscellaneous), Original Work
Genre: Brief mention of real splinters and metaphorical needles and razor blades, Disassociation, Drowning, Exposure, Gen, General fears related to being lost at sea, Hallucinations, Happy Ending, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Kenophobia (fear of empty spaces), Loss of family member (father), POV Second Person, Poetry, Rebirth, Sea Monster (with teeth tentacles and glowing), Shipwreck, Spiritual, Suicidal Ideation, Sunburns, Telepathy, Thalassophobia (fear of deep bodies of water), Tragedy, Transformation, exotic formatting, hunger, lost at sea, merperson - Freeform, swallowed alive, swallowed whole, thirst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29276013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceDimentio/pseuds/SpaceDimentio
Summary: You’ve always loved the Oceanthe waves that propel you away,farther from Land than your ship already was.Deep, deep belowthe Thing waitsout of reach of the light.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure where this came from, it's kind of a mish-mash of various mythology ideas/stories that I've absorbed over the years. Mind the tags. Contains exotic formatting.
> 
> To see the version that's formatted like a high school English class handout, go here: https://www.deviantart.com/spacedimentio/art/You-ve-always-loved-the-Ocean-story-poem-868164050

**i.**  
  
You’ve always loved the Ocean  
ever since you were small  
and It splashed onto your toes.  
When a broken shell cut your foot  
you didn’t cry; you wiped away the blood  
and ran your fingers over the patterns,   
considering how they would fit together   
in a necklace you mother showed you  
how to make.  
You peered into tide pools,  
you played in the surf and,  
even when It dragged you far away,  
almost stole you and taught you to respect It,  
you set aside your fear and made friends with It again.  
  
You listened to the sounds of the waves,  
the calls of the seabirds,  
the clicking of dolphin pods playing alongside of you  
the clacking of crabs combing the beach for food  
and all the music of the sea.  
Many days, after your chores were done,  
you’d sit on the sand and  
watch the sunset paint the sky,  
playing nonsense and sea shanties on   
an ocarina carved from whalebone.  
  
You learned how to walk on a bobbing boat,  
how to tie knots, how to fish,  
about currents, about diving for clams,   
about the colorful reefs and hiding eels,  
the curious octopus and the hunting shark.  
You loved everything about the Ocean,   
all the frightening and wonderful things.  
  
Your father didn’t return one day.  
Your mother sobbed by the fire   
and you stood on the shore,  
feeling the water wash around your ankles,  
pulling, grasping, as if It could take you too.  
Even then you could not hate It,  
only hoped It would take good care of him,   
that he and his shipmates could find peace in the waves,   
their bones scattered, laid to rest in the depths  
and their bodies feeding a multitude,  
as is the Ocean’s way.  
  
You walk up the gangplank as you have a hundred times before,  
as your father and grandfather and forefathers did before you,  
the wood creaking solidly beneath your feet  
and the sails flapping eagerly in the wind.  
High in the crow’s nest the Ocean stretches forever,   
clouds drifting above in the endless blue dome.  
If you look too long, you’ll go mad, they say,  
but you look anyway and feel the rocking waves   
deep down in your core.  
  
The stars twinkle around the Moon,  
Her light unable to illuminate   
the mysteries beneath the water.  
In the middle of the night,   
a horrible noise tears you from your rest,  
drives a terrible chill up your spine,  
sends water crashing in to strangle you.  
You cling to a broken plank and shout and scream and cry but  
they leave you behind,   
some safe on the ship’s boats,  
most lost to blackness and slumber.  
The ship tears itself to pieces and sinks.  
It’s not long before you can’t hear them anymore,  
alone and lost and forgotten.  
  
You’re angry  
and scared,  
mourning.  
The Ocean took your father,   
takes your friends and your home.  
It waits.  
  



	2. ii.

**ii.**  
  
You’ve always loved the Ocean  
the waves that propel you away,   
farther from Land than your ship already was.  
Its waters temperate, the night warm   
and not yet enough to steal your breath.  
The clearness of the night lasting  
until the Moon vanishes behind a small storm,   
brief flashes of lightning unable to replace Her light,   
casting strange shadows and leaving   
thunder rumbling behind it lazily.  
  
A light rain pelts you.   
You let the warm water trickle into your mouth,  
knowing that you’ll need it  
and that it’s not enough.  
It could batter you to pieces,   
if it was worse,  
could send enormous waves  
to bury your tiny being  
under their powerful swells.  
But it lasts only a short while  
and leaves you  
shivering in your nightclothes,   
curled around your plank to conserve heat,  
grateful to float without treading  
and burning away all your strength.  
The wood can’t support you fully,  
but you can keep your head out of the water,  
your fingers holding on tight.  
  
In the dark, there is only the chill,  
the lapping of the waves that  
occasionally wash over you,  
threatening to tear your last salvation  
from your cramping fingers.  
There is the Moon peering between scattered clouds  
to shine on   
nothing   
but you.  
If the night was colder,   
you would not make it to dawn,  
but you think you can last until the  
Sun breaks the horizon once more  
and shines His light on   
the slim potential of rescue.  
  
In the dark, there is  
time trickling away fast and slow  
and not moving at all but for   
the inching of the celestial bodies  
sparking coldly in the void  
and the thirst beginning to scratch at your throat.  
You don’t even know what happened,  
why the ship crashed or how.  
  
You know you will die in the Ocean,  
have always known that you would,  
and you cannot hate It  
because It is simply where you’ve   
always been meant to be.  
You know It, you know Its cruel ways,  
and when your time runs out,  
in mere hours or some distant tragedy,  
you will be glad to become part  
of that which you love  
even though  
you won’t be able to love It any longer.  
  
In the dark, there is  
your body fighting for equilibrium,  
numbness prickling at your toes and fingers,  
unknown things brushing against your legs,  
salt crusting on your skin, your clothes, your hair.  
There is wretched hope,  
a wordless prayer for mercy,  
regrets and wishes and dreams.  
There is  
  
 _s o m e t h i n g._  
  
Your breath hitches,   
the hairs standing up on your neck,   
gooseflesh crawling down your arms  
and every instinct aware of sudden doom.  
  
In the dark,  
 _something_ moves,   
something _massive_ ,   
enough to change the flow of the waves around you.  
  
Your heart pounds, tries to escape your chest and flee.  
  
Moonlight glistens on _something_  
curling  
leisurely  
More than one   
two  
three  
too many  
  
all around you  
  
teasing at the water  
with fang-lined suction cups  
  
Your breath comes too fast,  
helpless to do anything but cower  
your gaze darting around  
watching each thick tentacle close in  
taking their time  
  
But there’s _something_ more  
It rises before you  
water trailing off of It and crashing down  
Higher, two eyes the size of you  
glowing like lamps, like the Moon Herself  
white and blank and fixed on you.  
Hair and skin and scales as black as the water and hunting limbs  
A face horribly, appallingly human but n ot qui t e   
Set on a long neck, crowned by horns,  
and wearing a cloak of octopus tentacles  
thick and thin and curling,   
disappearing beneath the surface  
You can’t see where all of them are  
  
You can’t scream  
Frozen by the pure ugliness and beauty of the Thing,  
incomprehensible and vast and a pressure on your mind.  
Its gaze drawing yours up and up and up,  
It swarms Itself around you, doesn’t yet take but surrounds  
Taunting you, savoring you,  
teasing like foamy surf  
and as inescapable as a riptide.  
It leans closer, barnacles on Its skin;  
  
Skin that splits to reveal a dreadful maw   
A maw filled with teeth like needles,  
Shark teeth,  
Flat crushing teeth,  
A multitude of tongues   
Like   
Writhing eels  
Long and reaching  
  
For You  
  
floating on your plank  
tiny and alone and terrified  
netted in a ring of grasping arms  
and staring down a throat preparing to swallow you  
whole or in bloody pieces  
You hear  
You _hear_  
  
 _You poor mortal._  
 _I will cut your suffering short._  
  
It _says_ ,   
In a voice neither male nor female   
nor anything in between  
In a voice like waves,   
like rain,  
like creaking wood  
and chirping dolphins  
cawing seabirds  
the thuds of swim bladders  
clicking snapping claws  
singing whales and ocarinas  
In a voice like _the Ocean_  
  
You gasp and somehow  
you manage to find your tongue  
in the center of a chill  
unrelated to the cold   
slowly pressing a vice grip around your body.  
“No, please!” you plead,  
“My suffering is not much yet,  
and I still have hope!”  
  
It pauses, Its lantern eyes widening infinitesimally,   
nictitating membranes sliding across them,  
Its breath full of brine and secrets.  
The swirling tentacles slow, the tongues pull back,   
the niggling pressure in the back of your head grows slightly heavier  
and you realize that there were not _meant_ to be words.  
  
 _It has been a long time since a Child of Man has heard my voice,_  
  
It responds in thought, the full weight of Its gaze  
pressing down upon you.  
A flicker of multicolored light races   
down Its neck and vanishes into the black.  
  
“I hear you, Great One” you breathe,  
your voice small and frail and nothing compared to It.  
“Please, I beg of you, do not devour me!”  
  
It shakes Its head subtly, pity in Its Ocean voice that   
hums not through air but your head.  
 _  
You are already doomed, Little One,  
far from any who could help you.  
Why should I spare you and deny myself  
the nourishment of your flesh?_  
  
You cannot come up with a response for a moment,  
knowing the nature of the merciless sea.  
You cannot put your soul, your humanity,  
your dreams and memories and personhood into words.  
“…I-I’m afraid,” you whisper, the truth.  
“I w-want to see my family again,  
I want to go home!   
There is still time for me to be rescued;  
if I am not, you will not have to wait long.”  
  
You swallow, ashamed of the wasteful tears   
cutting trails through the crust on your face.  
“I don’t want to say goodbye to them, not yet.  
I will miss them so much,   
and I will miss the Ocean…”  
  
 _The ocean?  
Do you not hate it, child?  
It will take away everything that you are.  
It will break you._  
  
More lights glint along Its skin,  
green and purple and gold  
azure and fire and ice.   
  
You shake your head,   
letting your eyes follow the hypnotic colors,   
filled with memories good and bad,   
dredged from your heart.  
“No. I’ve always loved the Ocean,”  
you say softly, “and I always will.   
I have spent my whole life with It.  
I could never hate It.”  
  
At last,  
the Thing’s mouth closes,   
invisible against Its pitch scales once more.  
It regards you, maliciousness and hunger driven from Its face,  
replaced by something you don’t understand.  
  
 _Your suffering will be great._  
  
It tries, just as softly,  
tentacles slipping back beneath the waves,   
no longer black and horrible   
but lustrous with life and death both.  
  
You smile fearfully, bravely,   
banishing your tears.  
“I know.”  
  
 _…Very well. I will wait for you, Little One._  
  
It turns and plunges into the sea,   
Its huge serpentine body lined with   
glittering fins and rough shark blades alike.  
Its nereid tail blots out the stars and crashes down,   
water splashing and rocking you.  
  
You hug the plank of wood close,  
aware that at some point your heart had slowed  
and your breath evened out.  
You lay your head down, trying to keep it slow,  
trying to keep it even,  
trying to conserve energy.  
  
Below in the blackness,  
the Thing swims slow circles,  
lights blinking along Its length.  
You still feel It, in your mind and your soul;  
you know they are a guide to It,   
when you give up your hope,   
the last thing you have besides your life.  
  
The night continues on,  
cold and uncaring,  
lonely but for the dreadful merciful Thing,  
and somehow you are thankful.


	3. iii.

**iii.  
  
** You’ve always loved the Ocean,  
source of life and death alike.  
The way the rising Sun  
casts a long wavering reflection  
and colors the clouds pink and gold.  
The way He glitters on the water,  
hurting your eyes like always  
and bringing desperately needed warmth.  
  
For a time, it’s nice  
until He rises high in the sky and  
begins to beat down upon you.  
Until your skin starts to itch with heat  
all the worse with splashes of salt.  
Thirst claws at you, dries your tongue,  
your stomach beginning to complain  
and your head pounding like footsteps  
stomping across a deck.  
The endless water all around you is tempting,  
but you know it will only kill you faster.  
  
Deep, deep below  
the Thing waits  
out of reach of the light.  
You know It’s there the same  
way you know where your hand is,   
even though it’s cramped and tingling  
and It sounds faint.  
-  
Time passes and somehow  
it’s worse  
to be able to see  
nothing but water  
instead of black.  
-  
In the distance, you see a ship  
or you think you do.  
The sails billow with wind you hadn’t noticed  
and you can pick out pinprick figures  
scrambling across the deck.  
You try to yell for help,  
try waving your stiff hands,  
but  
they don’t see you  
they don’t hear you.  
You are only one tiny soul  
adrift in a vast unforgiving universe  
And you don’t exist.  
-  
What seems like hours go by  
but when you check  
the Sun has hardly moved at all.  
Slowly  
agonizingly  
everything gets worse.  
You’re dying so many ways at once,  
only living thanks to the grace of  
a flimsy plank,   
growing sicker every minute.  
  
Squandering sweat beads on your forehead  
and eventually stops.  
Your lips chap and bleed,  
the taste copper on your tongue.  
Your salt-kissed hair drapes over your face  
but can’t shield your skin  
from the baking rays.  
Despite it you feel cold,  
the day restoring some of the body heat  
the night took, but not all,  
the Ocean stealing back what was gained  
little by little.  
-  
It takes you some time to realize  
that maybe there shouldn’t be whispering in your ear.  
That you shouldn’t be seeing   
islands and ships and whale tails  
that vanish when you look directly at them.  
That the whiff of mother’s stew you catch  
that makes your stomach growl  
isn’t real  
and your father isn’t there talking to you  
telling you it’ll be alright  
asking you to take his hand.  
You continue to grow weaker  
praying for just a drop of safe water.  
-  
Maybe you already died  
and this is simply your own personal hell.  
Maybe you’ll be floating forever  
alone but for a hungry nightmarish creature  
and the scattered birds wheeling far overhead,  
all waiting for your death.  
You don’t know what you did to deserve this  
The same fate as your father  
Or so you’ve always supposed.  
You’ll never know what happened to him.  
There’s a lot you’ll never know.  
-  
You can’t tell what’s real anymore,  
if you’re wasting your energy  
begging wraiths to save you.  
If the Thing you saw last night,  
that you instinctively know circles below you,  
is real.  
It must be a dream, a hallucination,  
It _must_ be,  
a dying vision to make sense of your fear  
a strange source of comfort;  
if It’s real, then you’re not alone.  
  
You think about home.  
You think about what your mother  
will do without you,  
if she will be able to withstand  
another loss, another theft committed by the Ocean.  
You think about your life,  
about your dreams, hopes, desires,  
about what you will do when there’s  
solid Land beneath you again.  
Eventually you run out of things to think about  
and you think about nothing at all.  
-  
Consciousness lapses  
and it’s almost a relief to  
blink awake  
and see that the Sun has moved.  
-  
Suddenly, there is water  
engulfing you  
a wave tears the plank from your hands  
Your body aches as you force it to move  
Trying not to let panic cloud you  
Struggling to stay above the surface  
You know how to swim,   
have swum almost before you could walk  
your body barely responds  
terrifyingly drained  
  
Despite your efforts  
you choke  
air not found often enough  
And you think  
this is it  
but you’re not ready  
there is still  
daylight left  
light left  
for someone  
anyone  
to spot  
you  
  
Something  
brushes against you  
wood  
the plank  
you grasp it  
throw everything in you  
into digging your sluggish fingers in,  
wrapping your arms around it  
ignoring the fresh splinters in your skin  
  
You gasp in muggy air  
Coughing out water  
Pain spiking in your throat and lungs  
Knowing there was no way  
you didn’t accidentally swallow some  
You catch a glimpse of  
something black as night nearby  
A tentacle slithering back  
into the water  
  
“Thank you…” you say hoarsely,   
your voice all but gone by now.  
More adrenaline spikes through you  
when you feel teeth  
prickling and careful around your bare ankle  
No time for shoes  
when water is filling your cabin  
and sweeping you away.  
  
 _You won’t last much longer, Little One.  
You have a choice to make._  
  
It tells you, voice so much clearer  
than all the clamoring ones in your head.  
It holds for a moment more,  
substantial and there  
before the powerful tentacle slips away,  
a Thing beyond your imagination,  
an ancient creature,  
a spirit,   
a god.  
All at once and   
none at all  
It   
Is  
  
The clarity of your thoughts  
goes with It but you understand.  
The choice is when to die and how.  
You can keep holding onto hope  
And die slowly, alone,  
Growing weaker and weaker until   
hypothermia extinguishes you,  
exhaustion drowns you,  
consciousness giving out  
and knowing nothing more.  
Or let go,  
cut your suffering mercifully short  
knowing It is with you,  
but saying goodbye to everything  
you know and love  
saying goodbye to yourself.  
-  
You wonder if there’s a point  
to clinging to life.  
Until the day and your strength runs out,   
there’s a chance  
but it’s so small  
and the seas are vast and empty.  
Below there is It,  
and there is life.  
Fish and dolphins,   
reefs, sandy beds,   
and so much more that you’ve never seen  
and can never experience.   
Suddenly you realize  
that you barely know It at all.  
You know the surface  
but below  
is a near infinity,  
forbidden to humanity.  
  
The realization makes you want to cry  
but the tears don’t come,  
too dehydrated.   
You’ve always loved the Ocean,  
and you wish you could know It,  
but it can never be.  
For a moment, you hate It  
for doing this to you  
for keeping Its secrets  
for Its blind cruelty.  
No, not hate,  
it’s despair  
and fear,  
it’s grief  
and indescribable longing  
and a broken heart.  
  
The Thing stirs  
a touch in your consciousness.  
Without the physical proximity,  
you can’t understand It,  
the fog in your mind too much  
to make much sense of Its song.  
You wonder if It will simply take you  
the next time you lose your grip  
or if It will save you again  
and continue waiting  
for your waterlogged corpse to   
sink down into Its expectant throat.  
You wonder if you should have  
let It deliver Its mercy  
let It deliver you to your rest.  
-  
It doesn’t seem to matter anymore.  
Nothing does.  
The waves bob you up and down  
and soon,   
thought fades away once more,  
into endless thirst,  
rolling nausea,  
migraine, faintness,   
stabs of hunger,  
weak, burning,  
freezing,  
alone  
  
doomed  
  
just as It said.  
-  
The Sun begins to set,   
and you turn your bleary eyes   
towards the majestic sight,   
knowing it’ll be the last  
you’ll ever see.  
The light dips lower and lower  
on the shimmering horizon,  
taking your hope with   
the changing vanishing colors.  
  
You don’t have your ocarina;  
your fingers lost their dexterity long ago.  
You’re too weak to even hum  
but the songs run haltingly through your mind,  
words patchy and stripped away   
but melodies still strong.  
In your deepening delirium,   
you could swear that someone is singing with you.


	4. iv.

**iv.  
  
** Night sets in quickly  
crisp and clear and starry  
with no sign of another shower to  
quench the throbbing dryness in you  
It’s colder than the last  
It’s not the season for it be  
as cold as you feel  
but you half expect fog to  
spout from your chattering teeth  
Your body shudders weakly  
worsening the already persistent  
ache in your muscles  
the Sun no longer pumping His warm  
poison into you  
gone from your sight forever  
You can’t tell how many hours you might have left  
if you’ll last even one  
but it’s not long now  
  
You’ve always loved the Ocean  
the way the stars twinkle above  
and seem to wink, swaying in  
the haze of your itchy eyes  
The Moon shines bright and pale  
almost full  
hanging like a giant eye   
in a black void  
compliment to the one below  
  
The Ocean is still and calm  
light waves brushing against you  
 _It_ rises to the surface once more  
The Kraken, The Leviathan  
swimming slow circles around you  
playing with the water and foam  
lights dancing across its scales  
an Embodiment of waves  
  
-  
  
You know It hears the fading beat of your life  
just as you listen to Its siren songs  
Your mind too unraveled now  
to even grip the notes of things  
you’ve heard a hundred times  
True understanding escapes you  
Leaving you with vague impressions  
of stories, of promises, of things  
unknown to you   
that you long for regardless  
  
-  
  
You watch It  
the beat of Its fins  
the silent undulating of Its body  
almost jealous of Its freedom  
the ease with which It moves  
when you can’t anymore  
you want to reach out  
and touch It, curious  
but It’s impossibly far  
and too much  
  
-  
  
you don’t know when you stopped shivering  
the water traces its barbed fingers along your flesh  
stifling your inner flame  
replacing it with its false warmth  
snapping strings  
so that it doesn’t feel like  
it belongs to you anymore  
just a thing floating limp and useless  
detached from what’s left of you  
burning with death and emotions  
  
-  
  
even if someone found you  
right now  
it would be too late.  
  
-  
  
the Spirit grows bored of the empty surface  
and sinks down beneath you  
closer than the day, even closer than the  
night you died  
or should have  
Its glow draws your gaze  
calling  
like the waves  
that always drew you to the beach  
to find seashells and treasures  
  
the light took your hope with it  
leaving only a hole  
acceptance begins to creep  
in with the numb  
soon it will pry away the last of your strength  
and you will drown  
  
or the choice  
the only thing left you can control  
is when  
do you keep fighting and savor the stars  
the pains comprising your form  
let yourself be strangled by the  
vast waters you love  
perhaps awake for it,  
perhaps blinking away without warning  
perhaps welcoming the cold, black  
Ocean in on purpose  
or should you give yourself to It  
to know Its touch   
and suffocate quickly in Its belly  
your final resting place either way  
there’s hardly a difference  
  
you don’t know  
you’re afraid  
  
-  
  
you don’t want to die  
you don’t want to die  
but you do want the pain to stop  
you didn’t know there could be suffering such as this  
you were foolish  
are the last sensations of the Ocean worth this  
agony  
yes  
  
-  
  
you want to be  
by the fire  
safe at home  
your father whistling  
a shanty while  
he cleans  
his tools  
mother fussing  
and making  
stew from clams  
and rich shrimp  
  
you want to climb  
the lighthouse  
the mast  
the cliff  
  
you want to  
dive  
swim in the surf  
laugh with  
your crewmates  
sleep in your hammock  
to the ship’s rocking  
  
you want to  
  
live  
  
but you can have none of those things now  
  
-  
  
all is too quiet  
you still cling  
a little longer  
stubborn and afraid  
each labored breath  
whistling hollow  
heart weak and too slow  
  
it’s strangely comforting to know  
that you will nourish your unorthodox companion,  
that It will carry some part of you with It  
as It travels about the underwater world  
somehow you know that It won’t bite  
not after the fruitless chance   
It was kind enough to give you  
  
-  
  
I’m so tired, you whisper  
or you think you do  
not knowing if the words slipped past  
the razor blades in your throat  
 _  
Then come and rest_ ,  
  
is the reply  
close and soft  
an impression of  
arms held out  
Its movement stilling  
for a moment  
huge Moon eyes peering up at you  
no longer a terror  
but a friend  
  
a soundless sob  
I’m scared  
you tell It  
glad that It’s here,  
that you won’t be alone  
in the end  
no matter how it happens  
  
not scared of It anymore  
no  
only of death  
the unknown that comes after  
there are no answers  
  
thank you  
thank you  
you tell It  
sad that your hope  
came to nothing  
grieving that you  
will lose the Ocean  
though It won’t lose  
you  
It’s patient  
  
-  
  
you watch the ribbons  
twirling  
colors shifting   
scales deep black  
shimmering  
down in the dark  
all else a false vision  
a false song  
  
you listen to your death  
what aches and pains  
you can still feel  
in your formless body  
the cold piercing you  
right to the core  
fangs in your lungs  
  
surprised that you’re  
still awake  
thoughts tattered  
but your choice  
is in your hands  
  
despite everything   
you still love the Ocean  
you choose  
  
-  
  
you watch  
the stars forgotten  
replaced by ones  
unrestrained in water  
shining for you  
for you  
calling  
  
memories   
dreams  
drift  
you take them  
examine them   
in no particular order  
and  
release  
  
you almost can’t let go,   
your fingers unresponsive  
locked in position  
for relative years  
as if they were broken and set in stone  
shrieking and full of frost and sun kisses

you loosen them  
one by one  
precariously  
whimpering at  
the monumental effort  
the hardest thing you’ve ever done  
  
and you inhale deeply  
one final taste of brine and air  
the seconds it will last marking   
the remainder of your life  
you let go of everything  
and you let yourself slip under  
let yourself sink down  
  
Down  
into the Ocean’s embrace,  
your regrets and tattered hopes and frayed attachments  
too weak to drag you back to the surface  
salt needles in your eyes and sunburnt face  
the Moon watches from the other side  
Her light breaking, growing uneven and faint  
your limbs drag listless above you  
tentacles sliding into your vision   
dancing greeting not touching  
joining new sparkling streaking stars  
and the bubbles you slowly slip from your  
bruised lips to sink faster  
  
Down  
your ears hurting   
ringing with  
an incomprehensible reassurance  
a thrum of patience rewarded  
and you don’t need to look behind you  
to know that the Spirit is rising up to meet you  
you can feel the water pressure change  
when It opens Its jaws  
pulling you  
  
Down  
lungs straining for air  
the part of you that still desperately wants to live  
crying out in silent terror  
something _warm_ touches you,  
wraps around you and holds  
warm and not false and real  
massive teeth blot out the Moon  
closing, sealing away the world  
more coil about you  
a swarm of tongues  
passing you deep  
  
Down  
into  
so gentle to your battered, touch-starved body  
that another sob almost wrenches away  
your last breath  
flashes of coral colors  
bright fish colors surround you  
cascading back inside  
black beating at the edge of your eyes  
panic and fear war with   
acceptance and love  
you hold  
seconds ticking  
but you can’t  
you can’t you need  
  
 _Not yet._  
  
you try  
to listen  
try to stave off  
that deadly inhale  
the moment of sheer wrongness  
followed by utter calm  
the few survivors speak of  
It swallows  
taking you   
  
Deeper  
into the caress of Its throat  
the pull of muscles  
the stars  
blotted out completely  
with darkness  
until there is only   
a distant awareness  
of touch  
until there is nothing  
nothing but that need  
pounding drum-like  
and you can’t take it anymore  
  
water fills your lungs  
heavy  
stinging  
a relief  
you’re blind  
but that’s okay  
  
you exhale  
inhale again  
  
strangely  
you don’t vanish  
  
slowly the black bleeds away  
and the drumbeat recedes  
eardrums popping violently  
sharpening your awareness  
you’re surrounded by water  
but you don’t drown  
each breath made with effort  
each breath a little bit easier  
  
Your sight clears completely and you blink, baffled.  
You are in someplace warm and strange,  
the Spirit’s stomach, you realize.  
The light is dim, familiar colors   
pulsing through Its veins.  
A heart beats in your ear  
Huge and slow and as even  
as waves smoothing out sandy shores.  
  
You feel calm, comfortable even.  
The fleshy chamber is not unpleasant,  
not as huge as it should be  
but neither small nor constricting,  
just the right size to cradle you,  
as if it was made for you.  
Your evanescent body finally relaxes  
into Its velvet embrace,  
Its presence all around you,  
long-clenched, screaming muscles soothed,  
ice leeched from your weary bones.  
  
Safe.  
  
 _Rest now, Little One…_  
  
Water continues to cycle through you,  
effortless now,  
weighing you down almost pleasantly,  
clean and tasting only of salt,  
and you don’t question.  
Exhaustion digs its claws into you,  
pulls you under, inescapable.  
You know in your soul   
that it’s still too late,   
all too much to recover from.  
But what better death can one have,  
you think, awed,  
than to fade away into sleep   
and feel cared for.  
 _  
_Your eyelids droop,  
understanding now  
the fulfilling of a promise  
to bring no further torment,   
only peace.  
Knowing that your choice was right,   
to consent to the gift of a soft place  
to lay down your tortured body  
and your aching spirit,  
no longer adrift   
but found.  
Gratitude wells up in you,  
overwhelms,  
would spring tears to your bloodshot eyes  
if you had anything left to give.  
At last they close and you smile,  
serene,   
content with this fate of  
knowing rainbows and humming song.   
  
You float away, tranquil and  
dreaming of the Ocean.  
Just before you slip into  
a deep, deep slumber,   
there is a feeling, an echo  
of hair gently combed through   
and tucked behind your ear.  
And, almost tender,  
  
 _…you are mine…_


	5. v.

**v.**

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	6. vi.

**vi.**

Somewhere in the void, gentle rocking ceases. There is firmer movement, a prodding at a faint consciousness, not enough to rouse a dreamer. It stops, only to be replaced with prickling light, light unseen for some time.

Instinct nudges, jabs sharply, spurs dawning awakeness into new motion. _“Wake up, Little One,”_ a voice calls softly, familiar and immense.

You reach, tearing through a foreign, strong but fragile barrier, opening yourself to the cooler waters outside. You blink, peering out through the gap, addled and disarranged. How can you be breathing if you’re underwater? Why can you see so clearly, your eyes roaming over sand beds, rock formations, flashing fish that entice chases, all without the sting of salt?

You’re _alive,_ you realize, suddenly aware of existing, though how that could be is beyond you. Yet, you feel your heart beating steady and excited in your chest, unmistakable proof. You try and turn about, kicking your legs only to find that you don’t have any. The movement of the large muscular tail is strange and unexpected, but not wrong.

The streamlined scales coating it are pitch black, shimmering with colors you inherently know reflect your emotions. You squint, perplexed, sending a dash of lavender and something else down your tail; not all of the hues have a name in human tongue. You swish it a few times, knowledge clicking into place as if it was only buried, the feeling as natural as sprinting legs and balancing toes and bending knees had been.

_It_ is nearby, but you need not pay It any mind; It offers no harm. Awareness of It buzzes comfortingly in the back of your head; you can _reach_ , if you need It. It remains quiet and still, watching patiently as you find your bearings.

Beams of light pierce down into the water, brighter than you’d think they’d be at this depth, the surface distant and miles above. You remember everything. You remember clearly, your life and how you died. The memories are behind a solid line, Before but Important, there to access but easy to set aside until desired. You remember letting go of all of your attachments, and you know that life is over now, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t still feel everything you did before.

Your question is answered almost as soon as you think of it. _It_ could not remove those things, painful though they might be, without taking away You, your radiant soul and all of the wordless love you’ve carried with you throughout your mortal life. You give a hum of acknowledgement, the sound turning bird-like and resonant in your chest. You cock your head and make an even more musical noise, utterly delighted.

Finally, you swim the rest of the way out of the leathery egg case, admiring the flex of your tail, the spines on your back and the fins on your waist and arms adjusting your course almost thoughtlessly. You glance back, unnerved and amused and disbelieving all at once to find that you’ve just hatched, born again.

It ceases to concern you as you soon become distracted with watching the rippling of your main tail fin, the silky yet tough membrane fluttering like fabric in the currents of your movements. You’re not sure how long you were asleep for, but you decide it doesn’t matter.

Water streams over the gills in your lower abdomen, the slits armored but sensitive underneath. They’re angled more towards your back, but you’ll still have to be careful not to tuck your arms too close against them lest you smother them. Your inhales and exhales mostly come through them now, bringing in a constant flow of fresh oxygen.

You breathe in through your nose just to see, and that seems to work just fine as well, a rich variety of smells overwhelming you for a moment. Your lips part slightly, unknown tastes passing over your tongue. At nearly the same time, you comprehend how acutely you can sense vibration, your mind automatically parsing the movements of the life around you into spatial awareness.

Pushing the sensory assault away and refocusing yourself, you wiggle your fingers, open and close your hands, and rotate your wrists, examining closely. Webs stretch between your fingers and short stout claws extend from your fingertips. Your fingerprints still seem to be there, but they’re thicker and less delicate looking, more like rough pads perfect for gripping underwater.

Your exploration continues as you twist this way and that, looking over yourself and growing more accustomed to the ways in which your muscles work. You pull open one of your arm fins and release it, observing the thin but sturdy bones that shift and flex as it refolds itself back into position. Your hair floats in a cloud around you, glossy and somehow staying perfectly untangled. You run your hands over your skin, finding it more durable than before, silky and no longer subject to wrinkling. It’s not human skin anymore, despite your torso looking just about the same as your remember, skin blending smoothly into shifting scales.

Even your belly button is still there, marking you as a former Child of Man. Unconscious insight tells you that most of the Others aren’t like you; they were born solely from the cool waters, never knowing the shift of sand beneath their feet, stories by the hearth, or the rocking of a wooden home. But there are some that came from the Land; you won’t be alone. You think you can sense a few of the Others somewhere around you, watching you with interest but hidden out of sight. You will learn to block them out, should you want to. You don’t worry about them for now.

You move about with growing confidence, your sense of self gradually resolidifying. You feel…strong, healthy, dire sickness gone and dreadful weakness banished, replaced by the sweet feelings of wholeness and wellbeing. This astonishing new body feels _right_ , capable of more and different things than before, entirely yours. You peer up at the surface, far far away from the place where you quietly took your final breath; regardless, you find yourself rocketing upwards, crossing the distance faster than you thought possible.

You break the surface, and for a moment, you’re flying, wind caressing your sleek form. With an exhilarated trill, you crash back into the sea, quickly darting up to the waves and brushing your damp hair aside as you poke your head out of the water. The Sun is shining and warm, and the Ocean stretches unbroken as far as you can see.

An instinct triggers and something shifts inside your chest, a brief ache of unstretched muscles. Your gills close and become almost invisible against your skin, your lungs filling with crisp air and the welcome scent of brine. Clear nictitating membranes slide closed over your eyes and stay shut, your regular eyelids blinking every so often as well. A light layer of slime develops on your skin, shielding you from the Sun’s burning as His heat soaks into you pleasantly.

With effortless balance, you bob there for a little while, taking in the fluffy clouds and blue and other of the vault of the sky, recalling your last moments here before the Ocean took you. Already drowned, you don’t have much to fear anymore. Deep inside, you know that you could cast off your scales and return to the Land for a brief time, if you wanted to. You were born of It, It still lives in your spirit and you will miss It sometimes.

But below you is the world you have always wondered about; you let yourself sink back down to it, gills reopening with another stretching twinge. Tears suddenly threaten you, the salt droplets lost to the vast depths as soon as they spring up; this new amazing world is yours now, and you have a long, long life yet to live.

There is a thrum of affectionwarmthappreciation at your understanding of this gift. _It_ moves, somehow unseen beforehand on the seabed, Its huge black incomprehensible body approaching and circling about you. No, not black, _iridescent_ , resplendent and powerful and hallowed.

One of Its massive coils brushes lightly against your side, Its scales shifting to a reflective silver. You turn and look at your face, a human face, but not quite. You didn’t think you were bad-looking before, but now you look beautiful, full of vitality and radiance. Your pupils are no longer round but slits, the colors of your irises richer than before, speckled with ineffable shades.

You smile, a little startled by the sharp teeth that greet you. You poke at them with your tongue and fingers curiously, finding robust molars for crushing oysters and chewing kelp. You smile again, greatly pleased with your overall appearance. It’s still _your_ face; you’re still you and that can never be taken away.

“ _I am glad that you are happy, Little One,”_ It rumbles, clearer than you’ve ever heard It, Its enormous mind a delicate pressure against yours. Kaleidoscope rainbows shimmer along Its length, dazzling you momentarily before you turn to meet Its gaze. Your own scales change in response, unable to match Its vivid glow but providing a pretty sight nonetheless.

“Why me?” you chirp in wonder, music sparkling in the syllables of your native language. You find yourself full of songs, all the ones you already knew, so many from deep in your heart and so many more to learn.

Moon eyes turn to you, Its expression tender as It regards you. “ _Because, child, you told me that you loved me, and all throughout your pain, that love did not falter,”_ the Ocean answers. _“You gave yourself to me, and I have taken you and made you anew, so that you may continue to love all that is yours.”_

Overwhelming joy swells in your heart and you press yourself against the Great Spirit’s tentacled mane without hesitation. Mighty limbs wrap around you gently, suction cup fangs scraping harmlessly against your new body. “Thank you, thank you!” you chatter, soon running out of words to express your sheer gratitude and simply settling for making it _felt_. It chuckles like rolling water polishing and tumbling stones, and this time, the brush of hair being tucked away is real.

It holds you a little tighter, sharing in your happiness before letting go. _“Come, My Child. I have much to teach you,_ ” It beckons, turning and leisurely gliding away.

You again become keenly aware of all of the scents and vibrations around you; quite a few of them strike you as tasty. Your stomach growls loudly and you laugh like bells. Your teeth and your claws and your strength and your body are all made to catch food and explore and play.

“Yes, Father,” you respond with a jubilant warble, following and reveling in the ease and speed with which you move through the water. The Others keep their distance for now; you will meet them when you are not so New, when you have grown more used to sleeping on soft sand beds, to dancing with the currents and hunting for the Ocean’s bounty.

Scales positively gleaming with all the things you feel, you are more than ready to learn about this world that you have always longed for. You keep the one you left behind close to your heart, for that one was yours as well, and it won’t do to forget it.

You greet your new life eagerly, overjoyed and knowing that you will always be safe and happy.

Because you’ve always loved the Ocean.

And the Ocean loves You.


End file.
